Sang-hyuk wasn’t surprised when he peeked into the kitchen to see it empty, the house silent save for the sweet sound of a bird’s chirping outside. With the ease of someone who had done this too many times, he pulled out food from the fridge and prepared his breakfast, clinking the pans for good measure as he placed them on the stove. He knew Hak-yeon liked to pretend to be his mother, cooking and caring for him as if he were helpless; but they both knew Sang-hyuk was more than capable to care for himself.

He had already been doing it for far too long.

As he waited for the egg to finish, the sizzling a stark contrast to the constant silence, Sang-hyuk turned to look down the long hallway, his father’s office door closed like always. He knew he should stay away; his legs still burned whenever he moved the wrong way. Regardless of how many times he apologized, the man had acted in such a way it made waves of uneasiness rush down Sang-hyuk’s spine. It was more than enough reason to pretend he wasn’t there until his father came back.

And yet…as he slid the egg onto the steaming bowl of rice, he thought back to how the man had never stepped out of that room, completely alone. Sang-hyuk was able to go a couple days without eating anything if he really had to, but he still had to at some point. He wondered if the man was hungry or not, or lonely, sitting alone for however long his father would be gone.

Knowing he would regret it, he gathered up what little courage he had to carry the warm bowl to his father’s office, hesitatingly opening the door. He peeked through the small crack to see the man staring out the window as always, so quiet and still without giving any indication he heard him. Sang-hyuk wondered if it was because he was plugged into the machine again, and debated actually going inside, not wanting to bother him if he was busy. But when he glanced down at the little bowl of rice, he stood firm as he walked over to the man’s side, his eyes immediately looking to the other’s chest.

Nothing.

The man looked up at him, brief recognition flitting across his face as his eyes roved over him in a silent greeting. Sang-hyuk hoped he would say something first, suddenly feeling awkward as he just stood there, fidgeting. Eventually the man’s eyes looked to the bowl in his hands and Sang-hyuk jumped on that, gushing out, “I-I made this for you, i-in case you’re hungry.”

The answer was instantaneous. “I am not hungry.”

“O-oh.” Sang-hyuk’s shoulders dropped as all the confidence he managed to pull together vanished, feeling so incredibly stupid to have come back. Of course, why would he be hungry? Standing here with heavy eyes boring into him, he remembered the man clearly telling him he didn’t need to eat. When the man tilted his head, blinking slowly, Sang-hyuk stumbled back, clutching the bowl to his chest and spilling clumps of rice all over the floor. “I’m sorry. I d-didn’t mean to bother you. Sorry.”

He was ready to run out of the room when the man lifted his hand, twirling his fingers as if to brush Sang-hyuk’s leg. Sang-hyuk froze. “Your pain. Do you still feel it?”

Sang-hyuk glanced down at his legs, remembering the dark blotches that still littered his skin. He shook his head hurriedly. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

The man watched him for a few more seconds before pulling his hand back, his gaze hard. Sang-hyuk was too scared now to run away, his thoughts overtaking him as he imagined the man chasing him if he tried, his fingers locking around his neck as they slowly crushed the life out of him. He could almost feel the nails dig into him, the man’s face emotionless as he watched him die—but the man broke through them all with simple ease, his voice calm. “You came back.”

It took Sang-hyuk a second to understand, mumbling out a soft, “…yes.”

“You wanted to feed me.”

“…yes.”

“Why?”

“I just thought you’d be hungry.” He kept his eyes on the floor as he stuttered out, “But if you’re not…I’ll go. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He hadn’t even had a chance to turn around when the man shot up from his chair, his height and mere presence enough to make Sang-hyuk stay in place.

“Han Sang-hyuk.”

“Y-yes?” The man’s eyes narrowed when Sang-hyuk took a step back, jolting when he felt the wall come up behind him.

“Do you insist on feeding me?”

“Ah…no, no, y-you should eat. I know I get hungry after a while, and you should too.” He blinked when the man’s hands slowly moved up, holding out as if waiting for something. It took Sang-hyuk a second to realize what he was doing, biting his lip as he carefully gave the bowl of rice to him. For a short second, Sang-hyuk felt his fingers brush against the other’s, once again feeling the slimy residue slide between their skin and lingering over his own. He tried to hide his reaction by slapping on an awkward smile, secretly wiping his fingers on his pants.

“I never made anything for other people before, so I’m not sure how it’ll taste…” he trailed off when the man ignored him in favor of the food, absentmindedly sitting down as he stared at the bowl in a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He watched the man poke at the rice, rubbing the grains between his fingers, and Sang-hyuk handed him the spoon he had stuffed in his pocket earlier. “It might be a little cold now. I can heat it up, though it might be mushy…”

“It does not matter.” The man took a few small bites, his lack of expression not letting Sang-hyuk know what he thought, before looking up at him. “Are you not tired of standing?”

“O-oh.” He glanced around the room for somewhere to sit, deciding it best to sit on the floor when the only other chair was his father’s. He would never sit in that. The man watched him but said nothing, his attention distracted by trying to eat every single piece of rice. Sang-hyuk pulled his knees under his chin, picking at the carpet as he tried to suppress the hiss at how his bruises burned. “Does it taste okay?”

“I cannot taste, so no matter the taste, it would be fine.”

“You can’t taste?”

“I cannot taste nor feel, so anything you do to me will be pointless.” Sang-hyuk blinked at the slight waver in the other’s voice, the brief reveal of a kind of pain he hadn’t seen since the time his father first took his mother away. Sang-hyuk had never felt that way himself, but he had witnessed it enough, seen how it painfully destroyed his father until only a shadow remained. Despite the way the man kept himself blank and refused to let Sang-hyuk in for even a second, it was obvious that he felt every bit as lonely and hurt as Sang-hyuk did. He was lonely, and he was sad.

While he was nowhere near as strong as Hak-yeon, Sang-hyuk relied on what he knew as he wordlessly crawled onto his knees and took the half-finished bowl out of the man’s hands, silently placing it on the floor. The man was compliant, if not confused, as Sang-hyuk tugged on his hands, guiding him to sit on the floor with him. He was a bit awkward as he did so, his arms and legs cracking loudly as he moved, but he eventually was able to sit across from Sang-hyuk. It was once he was settled that the man finally spoke, his voice empty, “What are you doing?”

Sang-hyuk thought to what Hak-yeon would say whenever Sang-hyuk would ask that same question, always confused by whatever Hak-yeon thought up that day to cheer him up. “I just wanted to be closer to you.”

The man frowned. “I do not understand.” 

“I…I want to tell you I understand—the loneliness.”

“I am not-”

“I can hear it in your voice.” The man fell silent as he stared at Sang-hyuk, his incredibly straight posture and stiff arms laxing just the slightest bit. “You sound sad.”

“Sad?” There was no anger there, only a soft lilt at the end to show his confusion, a confusion that Sang-hyuk understood so well. There had been a time when Sang-hyuk’s voice was just as uncertain, when he believed there was nothing wrong with how every second alone made his chest cave in. When he stared at this man who seemed to have never been able to escape, Sang-hyuk felt eternally thankful for Hak-yeon’s loving persistence.

Sang-hyuk decided not to linger too long on things the other didn’t understand, instead asking, “What’s your name?”

“X39.” It was said so quickly, sounding so practiced and natural, that Sang-hyuk had to take a second to think of a response.

“Just that? Just X39?” The man didn’t say anything, just staring, and Sang-hyuk pulled back. “Sorry. It…it’s just different.”

The man tilted his head back, a vibrating hum that didn’t sound completely human slipping through the air as he thought back. Sang-hyuk waited patiently as he did so, trying to be as inviting as possible to get him to open up. He wondered if this was what Hak-yeon felt like whenever trying to talk with Sang-hyuk when Sang-hyuk felt like dying. He would have to apologize if that was so.

“My master…he called me X39. It was simple.” There was a hesitance at the end, a pause that Sang-hyuk jumped on.

“Did he ever call you anything else?”

“He...” The man picked his head back up to stare down at Sang-hyuk, eyes wide and open. “My memories are a mess, and I cannot remember much of anything. But there was once…I remembered a name. He cried when he heard it.” Right there, Sang-hyuk could see the slight rise of the lip when he spoke, his eyes flicking down to his hands.

“What did you say?”

“…Hong-bin.”

“…can I call you that?” The man’s eyes hardened, sending a blazing glare that had apologizes at the ready, clogging Sang-hyuk’s throat until he saw the small nod. His shoulders fell in relief. “Okay. I’ll call you Hong-bin, and you can call me Sang-hyuk.” Hong-bin nodded again, and Sang-hyuk chanced a real smile. Hong-bin kept his eyes on Sang-hyuk’s face as he tentatively lifted his lips in response, a lopsided smile that showed his teeth and brightened his face. It was such an emotional response, a happy expression that made Sang-hyuk smile even wider, and Sang-hyuk wished it was how he always looked. Hong-bin looked really nice when he smiled.

Sang-hyuk handed over the bowl of rice after a few more awkward seconds of smiling, racking his brains as he tried to think of what Hak-yeon would do next. Hak-yeon was always so smooth, always knew what to do or say to make Sang-hyuk feel so warm. Sang-hyuk was nothing in comparison, just a tiny boy that half the time was too afraid to look in the mirror. He had no idea what to do to make Hong-bin feel better.

He waited until Hong-bin started eating again before attempting to ask, “Are you helping my dad?”

Hong-bin paused mid-bite, his eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I am not allowed to answer that.”

“Are you going to stay for a long time?”

“No.”

Sang-hyuk frowned, discouraged with how disinterested Hong-bin seemed to be in keeping conversation, not even looking at him anymore. He decided to just let Hong-bin eat and enjoy the silence as he leaned back against the wall, looking out the window at the big, blue sky above.

There had been so many times he imagined himself as a bird, flying as high and free as he could with nothing to shackle him down. When he was first locked in his room, his mother pushing him in and his father holding the key, he envisioned himself one day breaking through and escaping with fervored joy. As the years passed, his dream never disappeared despite reality slowly sinking its teeth into the very center of his bones, imagining grabbing Hak-yeon’s hand and running away together. But as he listened to Hong-bin and thought about who and what he was, he could feel that dream swiftly fading away, the flapping of his strong wings softening to flailing arms, crashing so hard and fast to the ground.

If Hong-bin was what Sang-hyuk would be, could be, was there really any future for him besides living the rest of his days in this little house? Was there ever going to be another person that he would get to see besides his parents, besides Hak-yeon? He had always been afraid of the future and the unknown; but he still waited for it, curious as to what it could bring.

…but would anything really come?

He hadn’t realized he started crying until he felt something brush his cheeks, flinching away to see Hong-bin on his knees, his thumb dotted with Sang-hyuk’s tears. Hong-bin’s brow was furrowed as he shoved his thumb in Sang-hyuk’s face, the fingers bracing against the floor white. “You are crying.”

“I-I am?” he asked, wiping at his cheeks to find them soaked, his eyes burning as he choked out a sob. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He avoided Hong-bin’s attempt to touch him as he sniffled, drying his cheeks with his sleeve. “Sorry.”

“Did I cause you to cry?” Hong-bin’s voice was cold, sounding as if he was only asking about the weather, and it caused another wave of involuntary tears to cloud Sang-hyuk’s eyes.

His future really was bleak.

There would never be an escape for him.

“No, you didn’t do anything, Hong-bin.” He had to eventually push Hong-bin to sit back down, the other set on wiping Sang-hyuk’s face and his tears. He tried to distract him with a smile that did nothing but make Hong-bin try harder, holding out his thumb as if to show Sang-hyuk the tears dried there. He pretended not to see as he pushed Hong-bin’s hand away, each utterance of ‘I’m okay’ and ‘don’t worry’ cracking away at his smile until new tears washed the pieces away. “I promise I’m okay, don’t worry. Sorry.”

“Why do you cry?”

Sang-hyuk hesitated, looking up to see Hong-bin’s completely serious expression and could barely let out a shaky breath, suddenly so cold. “Because I’m sad.” Hong-bin nodded as if he understood, finally tucking his thumb into a fist in thought. Sang-hyuk hoped that would be the end of the conversation, not wanting to delve anymore into memories he and Hak-yeon had worked so hard to bury, when Hong-bin spoke again, slow and unsure.

“Sad…you said I appeared sad. I did not cry.” Sang-hyuk jumped when Hong-bin casually reached up and poked himself in the eye. He couldn’t help the shudder running through him when Hong-bin’s only reaction was to blink, frowning. He swiftly stopped his hand when Hong-bin went to do it again.

“Have you ever cried before?”

“Not that I am able to remember.”

“You’ve never cried before?” Sang-hyuk frowned when Hong-bin shook his head, eyes running over the other’s empty gaze and lack of expression, finding it not too surprising if it were true. “Not even to make yourself feel better?”

“Even if that were true, I would not know. I am not able to understand emotions, so ‘feeling better’ would not be something I could do.”

“You can’t understand emotions?” Hong-bin nodded, and Sang-hyuk scrunched up his face in disbelief. He supposedly couldn’t taste, couldn’t feel, and now couldn’t understand emotions—did someone like that really exist? “Do you at least know what they are? Like if you see it, do you know what it is?” When Hong-bin only frowned, unknowingly answering Sang-hyuk’s question, Sang-hyuk decided to try something.

“If you see this,” he gave Hong-bin a big smile, poking his cheeks up to make it appear even wider, “do you know what I’m feeling?” Hong-bin shook his head, but Sang-hyuk knew he had his full attention, the empty bowl forgotten at their feet. His stomach clenching uncomfortably, Sang-hyuk turned his smile into a heavy frown, his fingers tugging at the edges. “What about this? Do you know?”

“I recognize the expression, but I do not know what you are trying to convey.” Sang-hyuk snorted when Hong-bin tried to copy him, pinching his cheeks and moving them around to try smiling. Hong-bin glared, and Sang-hyuk only laughed harder.

“It looks like you know some. Are you angry I’m laughing?”

“Angry?”

“Yeah. You always look at me like this.” Sang-hyuk pushed down his brow in an attempt at the glare Hong-bin always used. That seemed to surprise him, Hong-bin’s fingers making their way to forehead and doing the same thing, his movements growing more uncertain each time. Sang-hyuk laughed again, swatting Hong-bin’s hands away from his face. “Here, I’ll make it simple.”

He could feel Hong-bin’s eyes following his every movement as he grabbed his own cheeks, shaking them around to make sure Hong-bin was watching. “If you see a smile like this,” he moved his cheeks up, “then I’m happy. If you see a frown like this,” he yanked down, “then I’m sad. Do you get it?” Hong-bin nodded slowly, unblinking, and Sang-hyuk giggled. “And like earlier, if you see a face like this,” he exaggeratedly scrunched his face up into the angriest face he could muster, imitating his father, “then I’m angry. Like super, super angry.”

Hong-bin silently felt along his own cheek, pushing every so often as if testing. “Human emotions are…difficult.”

Sang-hyuk sobered a bit at the honesty in the other’s voice, nodding solemnly. “They are. It’s hard when you don’t have a lot of chances to talk to other people and practice. Did you have anyone to practice with?”

“No. My master tried to teach me but could not. He concluded it to be impossible.”

Sang-hyuk conveniently ignored the word ‘master’, not wanting to think deeper into what that could imply. “Nothing’s impossible, only hard. I saw you do it before—here, copy me.” Sang-hyuk smiled brightly, not moving until Hong-bin tentatively followed along. He was slow as he changed his expression to any face he could think of, Hong-bin always trailing behind with a crude reenactment of the same idea, and was surprised to find his earlier discomfort gone almost completely. While Hong-bin still exuded the aura of someone to avoid and stared with the intention of someone who had seen too much, Sang-hyuk found him to be an incredibly normal human being. Strange, but normal.

Just like himself.

He stopped when he noticed Hong-bin just squishing his face, his lips jutted out and his eyes crossed, and Sang-hyuk burst out laughing. Hong-bin followed suit, a distorted sound making its way out of his throat that sounded like a dying seal. They both stopped, Hong-bin’s eyes wide in shock, and Sang-hyuk slapped his arm supportively.

“See? You can do it. You just need to practice.” He missed the way Hong-bin tried to say something as he shifted onto his knees. “You notice how I smile when I laugh? That’s because I’m happy. I laugh when I smile. So if you laugh like that, then you’re happy.” Hong-bin nodded, attempting to laugh again, and Sang-hyuk pushed him encouragingly. He was about to try and get him to cry when his fingers ran across the floor, feeling forgotten clumps of rice that had by now dried into the floor. He cursed softly, his eyes widening as he saw rice all over the floor, Hong-bin apparently not the cleanest eater. The spoon was stuck to the carpet.

“What is wrong?” Hong-bin asked when Sang-hyuk started to rip the food off the floor as best he could.

The delicate bubble that had encased them in that moment was gone, reality once again crushing Sang-hyuk as he remembered where they were, remembered what he was doing and how dangerous it all was. Like an old friend, fear embraced him and guided his body, rushing him to erase any trace that he’d been there. 

“I’m not supposed to be in here; if my father sees this, he’ll be extremely angry with me.” He grimaced when half the carpet threads came away with the spoon, hoping his father wouldn’t notice as he placed it inside the bowl. He glanced up to see Hong-bin staring at him, his eyebrows moving up and down and his face scrunched into a pout. He grimaced. “I’m sorry. It’s…it’s not your fault. I…I have to clean this.”

He hurriedly finished picking up all the rice and ran out of the room, leaving Hong-bin sitting confused on the floor. He knew he should explain better, especially after finally getting Hong-bin to open up and express himself, but fear was a powerful thing. It only proved why Sang-hyuk could never be like Hak-yeon, could never be strong enough to help anyone else. How could he help anyone else when he couldn’t even help himself?

He was in the middle of furiously scrubbing at the spoon in the kitchen sink when he felt something hovering behind him, biting his lip when a quick glance revealed it to be Hong-bin. A string of incoherent curses ran through his head, remembering his father reminding him and his mother that Hong-bin wasn’t supposed to leave the office, that they weren’t supposed to go anywhere him. His father would surely know Hong-bin left the room, and Hong-bin probably would have no problem telling about how Sang-hyuk broke the rules.  

He knew he would regret going back. He was regretting with every fiber of his being.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, refusing to look back when Hong-bin didn’t answer. “Go back inside.”

“Are you angry?” Hong-bin asked after some time, the spoon clattering to the bottom of the sink. Hong-bin tried again when Sang-hyuk didn’t answer. “Your face, I can only tell from your face.”

Sang-hyuk slowly turned off the water, turning around with tears in his eyes and his heart hammering against his chest. Hong-bin was as expressionless as ever, his eyes the only way Sang-hyuk could tell he was waiting. “No. I’m not angry. I…I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

Sang-hyuk fidgeted as he idly dried his hands on his pants, trying his best to stay calm. “Y-yeah. I’m scared of my father.” His eyes flitted to the front door, almost waiting for his father to walk in that second, and Hong-bin turned his head to try and see what he was looking at. “He’ll be the one that’s angry if he knows I talked to you.”

Hong-bin turned back to Sang-hyuk, humming. “Yes. They want to keep me isolated.”

Sang-hyuk wasn’t sure what exactly the other meant, but agreed nonetheless. “He likes to keep his work a secret.” He was unable to meet Hong-bin’s eye as he continued, feeling as if he was stabbing a knife in his heart. “I wasn’t supposed to talk to you.”

“You want to pretend you never saw me.”

Sang-hyuk winced at the accusing tone in the other’s voice, nodding guiltily.

Hong-bin didn’t say anything at first, the silence cushioned by the overwhelming humidity from the afternoon heat, the whole house feeling as if it was on fire. Having missed the majority of the fire while sitting in the shade of his father’s office, Sang-hyuk could already feel sweat collecting on his skin the longer they stood there, Hong-bin’s gaze another heat wave on its own. All the apologies he wanted to say died in his throat, leaving him with nothing more than a simple, “I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Hong-bin said finally, nothing in his tone or posture indicating if he actually did or not. “If that is what you wish, then you should clean this too. Your father will know otherwise.”

Sang-hyuk blinked confusedly at him until Hong-bin pulled his shirt over his head and opened the two doors Sang-hyuk had momentarily forgotten about. Sang-hyuk wasn’t given much time to marvel at the metal underneath when Hong-bin clicked open a latch over where his stomach should be. He opened another little door to reveal a small plastic bag inside, taking it out to show Sang-hyuk the breakfast he had eaten earlier. Sang-hyuk’s mouth fell open in amazement, suddenly understanding why Hong-bin had insisted on not eating earlier.

Hong-bin’s lips twitched up at Sang-hyuk’s reaction. “If your father finds this, he will be angry.”

Sang-hyuk snapped back to reality as he mechanically took the bag, dumping its contents into the wastebasket and washing it in the sink. Hong-bin stood next to him all the while, his whole body exposed and open like a box, and for some reason, it all seemed normal. He shivered at the idea.

Sang-hyuk awkwardly handed back the bag to him when he was done, unsure of what to do as Hong-bin closed himself back up. Once Hong-bin was fully dressed again, Sang-hyuk asked carefully, “Did…did my father say anything about when he was coming back?”

“No.” He could see Hong-bin try and contort his face into different expressions before falling back to his neutral one, empty. “It will not be long.”

“Oh...okay. Then you should probably go back before he gets home.” He gave Hong-bin a slight nudge when the other made no move to leave, frowning when Hong-bin only tilted his head. Tilting his head—it was all he ever did. Sang-hyuk wondered how Hong-bin could convey so much in a simple motion that he couldn’t otherwise. He wondered if Hong-bin even knew he did it. “Really, Hong-bin. You don’t want him angry at you.”

Hong-bin watched Sang-hyuk attempt to push him a little longer before humming, shoving him away a little harder than he probably meant to. “I will go. But I would like to make a request.”

Sang-hyuk stood in a daze as he clumsily clutched the cable Hong-bin gave him to his chest, watching the other fix up the machine Sang-hyuk had unplugged earlier. Hong-bin hadn’t told him yet what he needed or why he requested his help, and Sang-hyuk could only conclude that it was a difficult task. It wasn’t hard to realize that Hong-bin putting together this machine was what had caused the loud noise when Hak-yeon was over, flinching whenever Hong-bin flipped a switch that clanged piercingly.

He jumped when Hong-bin finally sat down, easily falling back into the chair and appearing just like he had before Sang-hyuk came in. With the way Hong-bin stared at him without saying a word, Sang-hyuk stuttered against the worry that caused his fingers to tremble.

“W-what do you need me to do?”

“I need you to plug me in. My battery is low.” Hong-bin lifted his shirt up enough to open his chest before Sang-hyuk could fully comprehend what he said, pointing at the hole when Sang-hyuk only blinked confusedly.

“Like this?” He cautiously placed his hand on Hong-bin’s shoulder, goosebumps shooting up his arm when his thumb caught the smooth edge of skin over Hong-bin’s metal chest. He held up the cable to the hole, trying to figure out how exactly he was supposed to put it in, when Hong-bin hummed. The sound was a low purr that vibrated right into Sang-hyuk’s ear, and Sang-hyuk was suddenly extremely aware of how close the two of them were, Hong-bin’s lips beside his ear and his nose trailing against Sang-hyuk’s hairline. He swallowed nervously when Hong-bin spoke, his lips soft against Sang-hyuk’s prickly skin.

“Are you not afraid?”

Sang-hyuk had to pull away at that, his mouth running while his mind raced to catch up. “A-afraid of what?” Hong-bin eyed the charger in his hands, and once Sang-hyuk understood, he hurriedly shook his head. “N-no. You’re not that scary.” Saying he wasn’t at all would be lying, and Sang-hyuk didn’t want to lie.

Hong-bin hummed again, his fingers running up to cover Sang-hyuk’s hand, helping him align the charger correctly. His voice flowed like silk, warm and soft in a way that went against the cold, stiff manner he always held himself. “My peculiarity; does it really not bother you? Feeling metal where natural life should be, the idea that I have to rely on a machine to keep me running; does that not bother you?”

Sang-hyuk shook his head again, calmer now. Yes, Hong-bin really was normal. Strange, but normal.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with it. My mother is kinda like you. She has to plug her arm in sometimes.”

He didn’t expect Hong-bin’s lurching reaction, his hand clasping around Sang-hyuk’s wrist and clenching so tightly Sang-hyuk could already feel the bruises forming. “Really? There is another like myself? Where is she?”

“She’s not exactly like you. Just her arm.”

That didn’t deter the other in the least. “Where is she? How much does she understand?”

“She’s in her room. She doesn’t come out unless my dad’s home.” Hong-bin didn’t look like he understood, and Sang-hyuk groaned as he tried to make words come out. Sometimes speaking was so difficult. “She comes out sometimes, to see me. But not often. She doesn’t do much when my father’s gone; sometimes I forget she’s there.”

“So, she is not here?”

“No, she is. Just…she won’t come out. You probably won’t meet her.” It was hard explaining something that was so normal for him to another. He remembered when Hak-yeon first saw his mother, and how much he didn’t like her or her lack of affection to Sang-hyuk. Sang-hyuk thought she treated him well enough, but Hak-yeon hated it, and he hated leaving him alone with her. But she was his mother and he knew she loved him, so that was all he needed.

Hong-bin finally let the subject drop as he let go of Sang-hyuk’s wrist, both of them aware of how red the skin was. Hong-bin dropped his hands in his lap. “I hurt you.”

“It’s okay.”

“I gave you pain. You are sad.” Sang-hyuk opened his mouth to ask what he meant when he saw the exaggerated frown on the other’s face, realizing he was copying him. He hurriedly slapped on the biggest smile he could, shaking his head.

“No, I was just thinking. I’m not sad. You didn’t hurt me.” He waved his hand around just to make sure he got it, and the frown slowly disappeared. Sang-hyuk paused when Hong-bin’s frown gave way to a wide-eyed, naively trusting expression, a look he himself had seen so many times; he subconsciously put his hand on Hong-bin’s head, spreading his finger out through the thick, dark locks. Hong-bin stayed completely still as he did so, staring silently, and Sang-hyuk shuddered.

Hong-bin…this man…he had had so much happen to him, a rough scar that Sang-hyuk had managed to miss peeking out from under Hong-bin’s bangs.

Hong-bin gently tugged Sang-hyuk’s hand away when he tried touching the scar, continuing to hold it as he said softly, “If your father is not here tomorrow, would you unplug me?”

Sang-hyuk took a moment to respond, nodding just as softly. “Of course.”

Hong-bin’s small smile was what Sang-hyuk remembered later that night, lying under the covers and imagining the vast, starry sky outside.

The smile he gave before completely shutting down once the machine took over.